


You're My Golden Hour

by honey_wheeler



Category: Sarah Plain and Tall (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Missing Scene, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:52:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: Jacob has never been a demonstrative man but he finds himself wanting to tell her how he missed her, how when the rain finally came, it sounded all the sweeter because he knew it meant he could bring her home to him.





	You're My Golden Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the books, rather than the movie. Set during _Skylark_ , the first night after Jacob's arrived in Maine.

All night he’s waited for this. Not that he would have traded time spent with Anna and Caleb for anything in the world, not after so long apart. He’s a father first, after all, before anything and anyone, even his Sarah. And then there were the Aunts, who were full of chattering questions that demanded patient, mannered responses, no matter how Jacob longed to be alone with his wife. The night was simply leavened with anticipation, shot through like thread woven into cloth with the knowledge that before the evening ended, he would hold Sarah in his arms, that he would touch her after what seemed like a lifetime apart. 

She’s waited too. If he hadn’t known she would from the letters she wrote to him, the flush on her cheeks each time she looked at him until they finally retired to bed would have told the story on their own.

He lies abed and watches her undress in the lamplight, learning her all over again with each lace she unties, each piece of clothing she tugs free and folds carefully onto the seat of a wooden chair by the door, knowing now how to treasure everything about her the way he’d treasured the rain once it finally returned, all the more precious for how he’d taken it for granted before. Golden light limns the strong line of her throat, the tilt of her chin that hints at stubbornness. The shallow swells and spare curves of her tall form, the sweet shadows amidst and around them. Jacob has never been a demonstrative man but he finds himself wanting to tell her how he missed her, how when the rain finally came, it sounded all the sweeter because he knew it meant he could bring her home to him. 

To their bed.

Her smile is shy when she is as bare as he, sweet as she slides under the bedclothes that he lifts for her. His Sarah has never been shy, not even the first day she came. It rouses something deep within him, something heavy and throbbing. When he rolls atop her, she welcomes him so openly and instantly, so much like she’d missed him in all the same ways he’d missed her, that he finds himself positioning himself and pushing inside her in a slow, sweet motion, the thoughts he’d had of kissing and petting her until she went mad flown from his head like the gulls he can still hear calling each other over the ocean nearby.

He moves inside her, the feel of it somehow both new and as familiar as breathing. It’s been months since he’s loved her like this, since he’s felt the unique relief that comes from being with her, a relief that started the moment he read her first letter and only grew when he first took her to bed on the night she agreed to become his wife, which any God Jacob could cleave to would judge as near enough to right. He’s keenly aware this time of the babe she carries, the new life they made together out of joy and pleasure and something neither of them has ever quite been willing to call love before. Jacob whispers it into her skin now, strokes it over her bare breasts with his bearded cheeks, licks it into her mouth in the kind of kiss he hadn’t known existed before her. He tells her of his love for her in a hundred secret ways and even fancies he hears her saying it back just the same.

“Are you pleased about the baby?” she asks, when they lie together sated and content, their salt-slick skin hot where they press against each other and cool where they don’t. Jacob smiles as he rubs his chin over the part in her hair. This is the only way she’s short enough for him to do such a thing. He’d had to read her letter telling him of the child three times before it truly sank in, and he’d been so overjoyed he’d danced in the yard like he could bring the rain down all on his own.

“I am,” he says. “Are you?” Her letter had been as reserved as she ever is but he had wondered if worry lived between the lines. She’d come to him after the death of another woman in childbirth, after all, not that she would ever admit any fear to Anna and Caleb, or even to her Aunts. Perhaps not even to him.

She turns her head to press a kiss to his breastbone, the tip of her nose a ticklish drag on his chest. “I am.”

They wake well after the dawn, a luxury with no livestock to feed or chores to do, and make love again, a rare indulgence made all the more decadent by sunlight. Jacob has seen Sarah’s body in the sunlight before – swimming naked in the river, dressing before the window in the pale light of dawn – but never like this. Never has he seen his hands on her in sunlight, nut brown against the pale cream of her skin, callused against her softness, rough and crude-seeming in contrast with the neat lines of her body. He slides his hands over her breasts, almost shy from the effect of seeing what he usually does in darkness in the strong light of morning. He kneels over her and touches her belly, her hips, her thighs and what’s between them, and marvels at the strawberry ripe flush that blooms everywhere he touches. She’s not plain like this, spread in heady abandon for him, nearly glowing with the morn. She’s a wonder. One of the most wondrous things he’s ever seen.

“Jacob,” she says, blushing under his regard, squirming under his hands. Her breath comes in sharp pants as he continues to touch her intimately, his fingers sliding, parting, exploring. “Jacob, now, please.”

He curves and circles and strokes, watching in fascination as she clutches the bedclothes with both hands and arches her back off the mattress with a soft cry.

“Soon,” he says.

“ _Now_ ,” she counters, more insistent, and Jacob smiles and complies, pushing her knees wide and burying himself in her, his low groan of relief mingling with hers, the sun warm on his back as he moves inside her. Neither plain nor shy, he thinks, but she is his.

His, as he is hers.

_ Title from Golden Hour by Kacey Musgraves _


End file.
